As His Equal
by FFcrazy15
Summary: Charismatic and brilliant, Tom Riddle is nothing short of Hogwarts' finest pupil. But behind the façade lie dark secrets, family madness, and a tortured soul. When an experiment lands him in the Forest of Dean, early 1998, he sees the fruits of his labors firsthand– only this time, with a soul not yet numbed by dark magic. After all, no one is born evil. (Retelling of Book 7, AU.)
1. Chapter 1: The Locket

As His Equal

 _Summary: Charismatic and brilliant, Tom Riddle is nothing short of Hogwarts' finest pupil. But behind the façade lie dark secrets, family madness, and a tortured soul. When an experiment lands him in the Forest of Dean, early 1998, he sees the fruits of his labors firsthand– only this time, with a soul not yet numbed by dark magic. After all, no one is born evil. (Retelling of Book 7, AU.)_

Disclaimer: I neither own the intellectual property of the Harry Potter universe, nor do profit from this work produced here.

 **Warnings: cursing.**

* * *

A thousand sparks exploded around him, whirling like the Furies of Hades. Tom let out a sharp cry of surprise as the world began to twist and spin, spin out of succession, flashing like his life before his eyes at the moment of death. He saw a cottage, unfamiliar, the house of his grandfather and uncle, too familiar by far, a great chamber like the burnt and gutted insides of the Great Hall, _oh,_ this had been a mistake, a grand mistake, he was going to vanish into oblivion and no one would ever find him again–

 _WHAM!_

He slammed into something solid and fell hard on his back, legs struck with a splintering pain by the force of the blow. For several seconds he lay there, winded, staring up at the stars…

 _The stars?_

Slowly, he began to take an inventory of his surroundings. The ground beneath him was cold and not altogether level; the pinpricks of white light against the dark were framed by the twisted branches of old trees; the moon gleamed a waxing white crescent above him. So. He was in the woods. Somewhere. There was snow on the ground, therefore wherever he'd ended up was terribly far to the north, or…

 _Or,_ his plan had worked.

Tom sat up straight at that, mindless of the snow soaking through his robes. Was it possible? Had it worked? He made to check his watch, and then realized how ridiculous that was; the watch was a piece of clothing, it only told the time it had been wound to.

The stars. The stars wouldn't lie. He looked up at the sky again and found Orion, who was in an entirely different position than he ought to have been.

A shaking breath escaped him. So. He'd done it. He'd _actually_ done it. Tom was feeling rather pleased with himself, until he realized that he was still lost and alone in the woods, on a cold winter's eve, and he'd quite forgotten to bring along a wool cloak. Well, no matter that, he'd just apparate to Hogsmeade and-

His train of thought was cut off suddenly as he heard a noise in the trees– a sort of clanging, like metal striking stone. Warily, he stood, drawing his wand from the pocket of his robes– thank Merlin it hadn't fallen out, that had been stupid of him not to secure it– and creeping through the trees towards the noise. A flicker of movement caught his eye; he looked to the right, but saw nothing save the shadows and the trees.

There were voices now, along with the noises; he made his way towards them and presently came to a sort of clearing. In the middle of the clearing was a pool, and at the side of the pool were two young men of about his age. "-loads of nights when we never even spoke to each other," said the first, who was dark-haired and seemed to be wearing spectacles. "With you gone…"

He trailed off; the second boy– a redhead– seemed to be crying on a large, flat rock. A great studded sword (Tom supposed that was probably what had made the noise) lay half on the stone, half in the snow beside him. He eyed the sword curiously; he was sure he had seen something like it before, perhaps in a painting or a textbook.

"She's like my sister," the bespectacled boy continued. "I love her like a sister and I reckon she feels the same way about me. It's always been like that. I thought you knew."

The redhead turned away, sniffling, and Tom rolled his eyes. _Pull yourself together, man._ He realized that the sword was not the only object of focus in the picture; a sort of necklace or something was laying on the stone. It was too large to be a pendant, too small to be a pouch–

He shrank back as the bespectacled boy turned and began walking towards the trees, but there was no need; he merely picked up a bag sitting in the snow and retreated again. The redhead had stood and was speaking at last, but now Tom had lost interest, for in the shift of shadows at their movement the moonlight had at last fallen upon the necklace, and now he could see what it was. His breath caught, stunned.

It was the locket. Slytherin's locket, the one his mother had sold out of desperation all those years ago- and, by blood, _his_ locket. He'd only ever seen drawings of it before, sketches in dusty textbooks in the restricted section, but how often had he traced over the ink designs with his fingers? How often had he spent delving into the mysteries and supposed enchantments that his ancestor had placed over the gilded emeralds? Yes, this was the same locket, he was sure of it. It was his, his by blood, his by birthright.

And it seemed that miserable fool of a redhead had just attacked it with what he now recognized was the sword of Gryffindor. Fury blazed through him; he had no qualms about house rivalries, but this, _this_ was taking it too far. Some part of him wanted to rush out and demand his inheritance, at the point of a duel if he had to, but another, more sensible part reminded him that these boys did not yet realize he was here and would probably be careless enough to leave the locket lying around at some point or another. He could steal it back then.

The boys had finished talking, apparently; in what Tom assumed to be a reconciliation, they hugged, and then parted. "And now," the bespectacled boy said, "all we've got to do is find the tent again."

The redhead nodded with a choked laugh and picked up the sword and locket. Tom quickly shrank back into the shadows and waited until they'd passed him; when they were a suitable distance away, he followed quietly, careful to keep his footsteps on the muffling snow. The stealth wasn't really necessary in any case; the pair was too busy laughing and joking to notice his pursuit. Eventually they came to a tent and slipped inside.

Tom sighed and leaned up against a tree, resigned to waiting. He shivered in the cold air and cast a heating charm. All he had to do now was linger here until they fell asleep, and then creep into the tent and steal back the locket-

 _"Ouch- ow- gerrof! What the- Hermione- OW!"_

He started as shouting burst from within the confines of the tent. _That's the redheaded boy._

 _"YOU COMPLETE ARSE, RONALD WEASLEY!"_

Now _that_ voice was feminine; with each word came the slap of flesh smacking flesh, as if someone were being struck. Was the boy being attacked by a witch?

 _"YOU CRAWL BACK HERE AFTER WEEKS AND WEEKS- OH, WHERE'S MY WAND?!"_

Merlin's beard, she sounded ready to hex him. _Not_ good. Tom felt his blood ran cold; perhaps they were fighting over the locket. If she attacked him and disapparated with it, he might never come across it again!

 _"Protego!"_ came a voice; the bespectacled boy. Maybe it was time to switch tactics; if the boys were together against the witch, he could offer to join with them and take the locket once they'd overwhelmed her. _"Hermione- calm down-!"_

 _"I WILL NOT CALM DOWN! GIVE ME BACK MY WAND! GIVE IT TO ME!"_

"OY!"

The three voices froze at Tom's call, and he began to wonder if he'd made a mistake. There was no time to consider it, however, for immediately all three speakers poured out of the tent, wands held aloft. With one look at him, all three went pale. "No way," the redhead whispered.

Tom raised his own wand and pointed it at the witch. "You leave him alone," he ordered.

And in reward for his helpfulness, all three disarmed him, the force of the spell flipping him over backwards into the snow.

Tom let out a sharp yell as his body collided painfully with the snowy ground for the second time that day. Ahead of him, the three seemed to be in a mild panic. "Oh Merlin. Oh Merlin," the witch was whimpering, and the bespectacled boy was saying, "It can't be. There's no way-"

Tom pushed himself to his knees, fuming. "What the bloody _fuck_ was that for?!" he demanded angrily, spitting out blood and snow.

The three looked so shocked that Tom would have laughed if he hadn't been so irritated. "H-how did you find us?" the redhead– Ron, wasn't it?– demanded from the side. "We didn't say-"

"It can't be," the bespectacled boy said again. "There's no way that Vol-"

"DON'T!" Ron bellowed, whirling around.

"What?"

"There's a jinx on the name- I'll explain later- Just don't say it!"

"Fine, fine, I won't!"

"Look," Tom snapped, standing, "I don't know who you are or what your problem is, but I'll have my wand back now, if you please."

"Not a chance," said the bespectacled boy sharply.

"I wasn't asking," he returned, trying his darnedest to be intimidating despite the fact that he was essentially defenseless. "Wand. _Now."_

"Why, so you could blow us all up?" Ron retorted furiously.

That was odd. Tom frowned, startled. "Blow you up? Whatever for?"

The three shot each other looks that clearly read of unnerved fear. Good, he could use that. "Of course, I wouldn't advise testing me," he added smoothly. "Come now, hand the wand over."

Rather than doing that, the bespectacled boy lowered his wand an inch- just an inch. "You… are Tom Riddle, aren't you?"

Tom paled slightly, but managed to answer coolly, "Who wants to know?"

"Er… Harry." He didn't elaborate.

"Well, Harold, you and your friends here seem a bit barmy to me. So just do as I say and we'll part as unlikely acquaintances." He glanced coldly towards the redhead. "And I'll be taking the locket, too. It's a family heirloom. Goodness knows how you miserable Gryffindors got hold of it, but it's mine and I'd like it back."

More unnerved glances. He was beginning to tire of this. The girl stepped forward and said hesitantly, "Er… Tom. Just how old are you, exactly?"

He eyed her suspiciously, but decided the information probably couldn't hurt. "Sixteen."

"And… could you tell me what year it is?"

 _She knew._

He heard a low gasp as the redhead figured it out, and a slight crunch in the snow as Harold shifted his feet uncertainly. "…No," he said finally. "Could you?"

"Oh, Merlin's bloody boots," Ron mumbled. "You _can't_ be serious."

"It's 1998, Tom," the girl said in a very strange voice. "And… we're in the middle of a war."

* * *

The tent was warm enough, but old and sparsely furnished. Tom sat cross-legged on the bed nearest the stove and tried to eavesdrop.

The three strangers– he'd learned that the girl's name was Hermione, and the bespectacled boy was "not Harold, just Harry"– had refused to return his wand, and had actually _threatened_ him into moving inside the tent. There, the girl had done some rather impressive magic to stop him from moving beyond the edges of the bed, before dragging the dark-haired boy off and leaving the redhead to stand as guard. This "Ron" was now glaring at him with a rather disturbing amount of animosity, while he strained to catch whispers coming from the other side of the tent:

 _"-Came out of the locket?"_

 _"-Can't be; Ron killed it, I saw it die…"_

 _"-He actually swore, that doesn't seem very You-Know-Who-ish-"_

In light of all this, Tom had decided to wait. Well, "decided" was stretching it a tad– there really wasn't much else he could do. Despite their baffling behavior, he'd managed to piece together a few key points of information:

First, he'd done it. _He'd actually done it._ He couldn't help but feel absurdly proud of himself; time travel was all just theory to those crackpots at the Ministry, but he, a Hogwarts sixth-year, had made the jump. _Forward,_ no less, which was supposed to be impossible.

Second, whatever he'd done, here in this time, he was involved in a war, most likely on the opposite side of these three students. He could only assume that this was why his experiment with time had brought him here, of all places. Tom wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, it meant he might actually be accomplishing a few of his goals. On the other, war seemed a bit extreme. The old pureblood families always suffered the greatest losses in wizarding wars; it was just bloody _stupid_ to risk wiping out a whole wizarding culture with that kind of social violence. Surely there were better paths to go about achieving one's ambitions.

Third, the bespectacled boy– Harry– somehow knew this other him personally. He wasn't sure how, but the way he'd reacted to Tom meant that somewhere, somehow, he'd met him before. Tom wondered if it were perhaps the diary. That could explain why he recognized him on sight.

 _Unless I've managed to make myself completely immortal,_ he mused. _Ageless and young forever._ He frowned slightly. _Well, even if I have, I wouldn't want to be sixteen forever. Even death might be better than that._

He laughed grimly at his own joke, and Ron shot him a look. "Sorry," Tom said, not feeling very apologetic. He rolled his shoulders and cocked his head, trying to listen in a bit more on Harry and Hermione's conversation, but there was no need. Even as he did so, the two stood up and walked over.

"So. What's the plan?" Ron said viciously, still not lowering his wand.

"Well, we can't let him go," Harry said uncertainly.

"Fine. So we kill him."

Tom straightened up. _"What?"_

"We're not going to kill him, Ron," Hermione said sharply.

"I haven't done anything to you!" Tom added angrily.

The three all turned to him with suddenly ferocious eyes. "…Well. Not yet, I haven't?" he tried to amend, uncertain.

Harry sighed. "Look, we can't just off him, Ron; we'd need to talk to someone who understands time and all that a lot better first. Besides… he has a point."

"Like fuck he does! Harry-"

 _"He_ hasn't technically done anything. _Yet."_ He ran a hand through his shock of black hair. "Trust me, I'd like to do the honors myself just as much as you would, but…"

"It'd be wrong," Hermione said firmly. "Like- like going back in time and killing a baby Hitler."

"I'm not seeing the issue here."

"We don't become murderers to stop murderers, Ron!"

Tom stiffened at that. "I haven't killed anyone," he lied.

All three of them snorted derisively at that. He was beginning to wonder if it were choreographed.

"What about Myrtle?" Ron said acidly. "Although I suppose _you_ wouldn't count her as a person."

"Who?"

"The girl with the glasses," Hermione replied coolly. "The one your basilisk murdered in the girl's bathroom on the fifth floor."

A chill ran through him. "That basilisk wasn't mine," he said, as calmly as he could manage. "That half-breed freak-"

 _Wham!_

He hadn't even realized Harry had hit him until the anti-escape charms stopped him from falling off the bed. "Harry!" a voice shrieked, and he scrambled back, looking up to see that the girl was doing her best to hold the dark-haired boy back.

"Don't you _ever_ call him that again!" Harry hissed. "Hagrid is a thousand times the man you'll ever be, you filthy, conniving little _liar!"_

Tom blanched, his voice temporarily failing him. The young man seemed genuinely unhinged. "A-Alright! Alright! I'm sorry!"

 _"You_ opened the Chamber of Secrets! _You_ killed Myrtle and got Hagrid expelled! You're the reason so many muggleborns are dying, you're the reason my parents are-" He cut himself off suddenly and paced away, still shaking with anger.

 _I'm the reason his parents are dead?_

Tom was beginning to realize just how much danger he was in. If he was responsible for this young man being orphaned, and currently it was only two on one in favor of not executing him in cold blood here in the middle of nowhere, he couldn't afford to lose one of his only allies. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I didn't…" _I didn't know?_ That was not going to help his case. _I didn't mean to?_ Even worse.

He heard the man let out a low sigh through his nose, like a bull about to charge. Tom winced, but thankfully, Harry only took one deep breath, and then another, and didn't turn around.

"Let me explain to you how this is going to work," Hermione said quietly, though her hand had gone white around her wand. "You are not going to leave this tent. You are going to answer us when we ask you a question, and you are going to answer honestly. Believe me, we _will_ know if you are lying. You will not attempt to contact anyone, not that you could even if you tried. You will not be getting your wand back. When we are not questioning you, you will be under a silencing charm. And you will consider yourself very, very lucky, because believe me, there are a lot of people who would do anything to see you dead right now. Do I make myself clear."

"…Crystal," Tom said warily.

"Good. _Silencio."_

His voice vanished and died in his throat. Hermione turned to Ron and said, "Alright. We need to talk."

"Right," he agreed seriously.

She gave him a dour look. "About _how you found us."_

"Oh!" He blushed, and said again, "Right. Yeah."

Harry cleared his throat and nodded to Tom, who rolled his eyes. Hermione bit her lip, and then gave a nod; they went to another part of the tent, and the girl drew aside a sort of curtain to separate the room. A moment later, all sound from beyond it muffled and faded into silence. Tom waited for what seemed like ages, before the curtain was swept aside and the sense of sound restored. The girl brushed past him to a bunk on the opposite side of the tent, climbed into bed, and pulled up the covers.

The two boys followed. "About the best you could hope for, I think," said Harry, as Ron handed him a wand.

"Yeah. Could've been worse. Remember those birds she set on me?"

"I still haven't ruled it out," the girl's voice came from the other side of the room, but Tom saw Ron smirk as he began to rummage through his rucksack. He went to change beyond the curtain; as he did so, the girl suddenly sat up. "Oh, bollocks."

"Pardon?" said Harry, startled.

"We can't just _leave_ him there," she hissed, casting a furtive glance to the young man in the far bed. Tom raised an eyebrow, seeing as he couldn't talk. "Someone has to keep watch!"

"Oh. Right," Harry agreed uncertainly. The girl bit her lip.

"Look, Harry, I can do it if you don't feel comfortable- frankly, I wouldn't be surprised-"

"No," he countered sharply, and then said, "I'll take first watch, Hermione; you get some rest."

"Harry-"

"I'm sure about this, Hermione. We'll question him in the morning. Just try to get some sleep, okay?"

She gave a breathy laugh at that and said ironically, "Sure. With him here, _I'll_ sleep like a baby." Her face suddenly fell, and she looked to Harry with remorse. "Oh, Harry- I'm sorry-"

"It's alright. Just… rest, Hermione."

She bit her lip and nodded, before lying back down again. A moment later, Ron came out from behind the curtain; he glanced to Tom, nodded to Harry, and went to sleep in his own bunk. The bespectacled young wizard pulled up a chair in front of Tom's bed and watched him, almost unblinkingly.

Tom, frankly, had had enough, but there was little he could do about it. Instead, he gave a shrug of his shoulders which the matron at the orphanage would probably have called _snarky,_ lay down, and rolled over to face the wall.

He didn't sleep, of course, not until three hours later, when the guard-shift changed. All throughout that time, he simply lay there, wondering and waiting. Waiting for whatever it was that Harry Potter was surely planning, for the wrath in the gaze of the bespectacled boy upon his back was something Tom knew to be nothing other than pure and utter hatred.

* * *

 **A/N: So just a crazy idea I had; what if Tom Riddle himself were part of the hunt to kill the Horcruxes? Probably won't finish this, but I thought it was interesting enough to post the first chapter.**

 **Also, I know that Tom is a bit OOC here; that's intentional. He doesn't act like Voldemort because he _isn't_ Voldemort, not yet. I think Rowling's assertion that the reason he can't love is because of how he conceived is sort of irrational; similar situations happen often enough in our real world without producing sociopaths. So I decided it would make more sense if he were _prone_ to insane behavior but only got to the "Lord Voldemort" point _because_ of his messing around with dark magic.**

 **Fun fact: that's often how evil works in the real world too. It's a slippery slope, my friends...**

 **Tell me what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2: Mushrooms and Mudbloods

Disclaimer: I neither own the intellectual property of the Harry Potter universe, nor do profit from this work produced here.

 **Warnings: cursing.**

* * *

When Tom awoke the next morning, it was to the intoxicating smell of something frying. His eyes opened, and for several dizzying seconds he couldn't discern where he was or how he'd gotten there. He seemed to be in a rather shabby bunk in a large canvas tent; no, this was certainly not his Hogwarts dormitory…

With a jolt of adrenaline, he remembered what had happened. He was not at Hogwarts. He wasn't even in his proper decade. His experiment had worked, and unfortunately he'd landed himself in the middle of a war with what he assumed to be members the opposition.

Slowly, he sat up, taking in his surroundings with all the wariness of a snake wondering if it ought to come out of its hole. The dark-haired boy– Harry– was asleep in the upper bunk kitty-corner to his. Ronald, the redhead, was just sitting up on the lower bunk, yawning. "Smells good, 'Mione. What is that?"

"Eggs," a voice replied, and he glanced over. Ah, yes, the girl. The one possible ally he had at the moment. He'd have to make sure to remain in her good graces.

"Delicious," he commented, and both the girl and redhead started. Ronald's eyes narrowed.

"Yes, well," Hermione said, a little more stiffly, eyeing him warily, before turning to Ron. "I figured we deserved it, after the shock of last night. Found them in a nearby nest."

"When you were on watch?" Ronald said casually, as if trying not to make an accusation.

"I didn't leave; I saw them on a branch just outside and used a summoning charm. Wake up Harry, would you?"

The redhead nodded and stood up, shaking the other boy's shoulder. The young man jerked upwards, looking around wildly and reaching for his wand. "What? What's happened?"

"Breakfast," Ronald said cheerfully. "'Mione's made us eggs."

"What? Oh." He squinted. "Hand me my glasses?"

"Sure." He did so, and the bespectacled boy blinked several times, looking around. When his eyes settled on Tom, he stiffened. The Slytherin gave a sarcastic little wave.

"Bloody basilisks, I forgot about him," Harry muttered.

"Pun intended?"

"Huh? Oh, er, no. Happy accident." He slid off the bunk and walked towards the small kitchen, shooting Tom a glare. _"He_ didn't pull anything while we were asleep, did he?" he muttered to the girl.

"Except snoring? No."

"I do not snore," Tom objected, annoyed. The girl shrugged and took the pan off the stove. Hoping it wouldn't anger her, he questioned, "I don't suppose you'd let me off the bed?"

The three glanced at each other, and then the witch waved her wand. The other two began to protest as the wall charms vanished with a slight crackle, but before he could move an inch, he felt another spell seal in around him. "What was that?" he demanded.

"Tether charm. You won't be able to move too far from the table," she said calmly. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"What, we're feeding him now, too?" Ronald demanded. "We barely have enough for ourselves!"

"Well what's your suggestion, Ron, let him starve?"

"Yes!"

Tom rolled his eyes; Hermione sent the redhead a scathing look and began dishing out the eggs onto four plates. Harry and Ronald sat down at the table; he sat down opposite the first, ignoring the way they froze and looked at him as if he were about to explode, and cordially thanked the girl as she served him his breakfast. She raised her eyebrows but didn't question it.

"Alright," Hermione said, sitting down to his right and fixing him with a very serious look. "I think it's high time we had a proper discussion about… all of this."

"Fine by me," Tom said coolly. "How's about we start with how you lot got hold of my locket?"

"No, let's start with how _you_ got here," Ronald broke in savagely, glaring at him. "How did you find us? How did you know we were here?"

"Find you? I don't even know you."

"And why should we believe that?" Harry interjected.

"Why would I lie?"

The boy fixed him with a very dubious look, and Tom again got the sense that he was missing something rather important. "Begging your pardon, but _you_ in particular act as if we've met before," he said to Harry, raising an eyebrow. "Don't imagine you'd tell me how we know each other?"

The other wizard gaped, and then looked to his friends as if to ask, _How can I possibly respond to that?_ Tom waited, growing more irritated by the second. "Well?"

"You're enemies," Hermione said frankly, breaking the tension. "Mortal enemies, as it happens."

"What? _Him?"_ He laughed incredulously. "Come off it; you lot can't be much older than I am! Isn't the 'me' in this time at least, oh, seventy years old? What would he care about some scrawny teenager?"

"How about you answer some of _our_ questions?" Ronald countered. "Like, how you found us?"

"I already told you," said Tom, annoyed, "I didn't _'find'_ you. I haven't the slightest idea of where we are or why this bloke-" He nodded to Harry, "-and I are supposedly mortal enemies."

"How did you get here, then?" Hermione supplied.

He eyed the three of them, suddenly suspicious. "…I time-jumped, obviously," he said coolly. "I was trying an experiment and it worked."

"And you just _happened_ to land here?" Ronald snorted, leaning back in his chair. "I'm not buying it."

"I'm telling the truth. The potion exploded, the world started spinning, and then I fell down in the snow near two blokes stabbing the daylights out of a precious family heirloom." He leaned forward, dark eyes flashing. "I have no idea how I got here. All I want is what's mine, and then I'll go."

But now the girl was eyeing him very curiously. "Tom," she said carefully, "when you were… when the 'world started spinning,' did you see anything else? A cottage, perhaps? Or Slytherin's chamber?"

He stared at her, stunned. "How did you…?"

"You think it was the locket?" Harry interjected.

"I'd bet my wand on it."

"But why here? Why not Godric's Hollow, or the Chamber?"

The girl shook her head. "I don't know. Time travel is tricky business, Harry… and forwards travel is supposed to be impossible…"

"That's true," Tom interjected with a nod, earning himself three identical sets of startled expressions (he was beginning to get used to them). "I didn't think it was going to work, honestly."

"And now we're stuck with the problem of putting him back," Hermione concluded.

"Yeah, well, I still say we save ourselves the trouble and off him right now," Ronald said darkly.

Tom's reaction was immediate and unplanned; he stood up violently and reached for a wand that wasn't there, only to have two twin cries of _"Petrificus totalis!"_ freeze him in place. He toppled backwards and hit the ground with a solid _thud,_ knocking the chair over in the process. Outwardly, he could do nothing but glare; inwardly, he was cursing; he had smacked his elbow hard against the chair on the way down. "See what you did!" the girl snapped at the redhead.

"It's a valid suggestion! Kill him now, and the current 'him' poofs out of existence!"

"That's not how it works, Ron! The whole wizarding world knows who he is and what he's done! We've all been affected! So unless you want to 'poof' all of _us_ out of existence, too–!"

"Alright! Alright! Fine!"

Harry had remained noticeably silent during this whole exchange, looking down at Tom as his friends bickered back and forth. The blazing wrath of the previous night had cooled into an iron hatred, and Tom felt a thrill of fear as he realized that there was nothing holding back the boy in front of him other than the spider-web thin threads of morality.

"We do have a problem, though." Tom managed to force his eyes over to the girl, who was still red with irritation, though thankfully no longer shouting. She, too, was looking at Tom. "We can't kill him, we can't let him go free…"

"We could take him to Hogwarts," Ronald suggested meekly, still cowed by the chastisement he'd received. "The others would know what to do."

"Hogwarts is crawling with Death Eaters, Ron; going there would be as good as handing him over to them." The girl let out a low sigh through her nose, as if making a decision, and declared simply:

"We'll have to take him with us."

Both Harry and Ronald had turned to look as if she were mad. "Take _him?_ With _us?"_ Harry demanded incredulously.

"You want to take _You-Know-Who_ to help hunt for the– ow!" Harry had elbowed Ronald in the ribs, but it was too late; Tom's eyes had widened, little as they were able, in sudden recognition.

 _The Horcruxes._ They were going to destroy the ring and the diary. _And the locket,_ he realized. _That must have been why they were attacking it._ He wondered how many he'd managed to make. His stomach churned a bit; surely it was only the three. His father, the butler and the maid… yes, that would be right; just the three…

"We could obliviate him," Harry suggested. "Then set him loose."

"Still too dangerous. How would you like You-Know-Who to find him and start asking questions?"

"Why are you so insistent on keeping him here?!" Harry was growing visibly upset; his hands were curled into fists, white-knuckled. "This is insane, Hermione, and you know it!"

"I _don't_ want him here! But I'd rather he were with us instead of out there getting into who-knows-what kind of trouble!"

"Well I don't fancy chumming up to the man who _killed my parents,_ thanks!"

There was a beat of silence. The girl's eyes had filled with tears. "…H-Harry, I…"

"I need some air," the bespectacled wizard said shortly, turning for the exit.

"Um, guys?" Ronald said nervously, as if afraid of inciting a reaction. "He, uh, he can still hear us."

Both the witch and the black-haired wizard paused, and then looked down at Tom. Tom looked back defiantly.

Three wands were drawn.

 _"Stupefy."_

* * *

When Tom awoke, it appeared to be several hours later, for he was rather hungry. He found as he sat up that he was confined to the bed again, which was unfortunate, as he soon realized that he had not been to the restroom since late the night before.

He noticed that the witch– Hermione– was working in the kitchen, chopping up something that looked like mushrooms. He cleared his throat, startling her so much she dropped the knife. "Oh. You're awake."

"May I leave the bed?" he asked bluntly.

She raised an eyebrow, obviously suspicious. "Why?"

He mirrored her expression. "To use the facilities. Presuming this heap of rubble has one, that is."

As he'd predicted, she immediately pinked, drew her wand and muttered a series of charms. Tom felt the first confinement charm break, only for another to settle around him. "What was that for?"

"To stop you from leaving the tent. Loo's back that way."

 _That figures._ Tom nodded and stood, heading towards the back of the tent.

Thankfully, it seemed it did have modern plumbing, which was a relief. Once he'd finished and was heading back towards the bed, the door to the tent-flap was pushed open, and Harry and Ronald came in carrying armfuls of wood. Tom caught the former's eye and watched the young man look away, his expression turning sour. He recalled the discussion proceeding his being knocked unconscious and remembered the furious revelation from the night before, that the future 'him' had killed the boy's parents.

An uncomfortable feeling twisted in the pit of his stomach, but Tom pushed it away; why ever he'd done it, it must have been for a good reason. This was apparently wartime, after all; sometimes people had to die, _for the greater good,_ as Grindlewald had stated. That was just the way things had to be.

 _And your father?_ a voice whispered in the back of his mind. _Was that "for the greater good?"_

Tom ignored the voice. His father… his father had deserved what he'd got. He'd been a horrible person, and not just to Tom. His death had been _justice._

 _And the mudblood girl?_

An accident. A mistake, nothing more. He wouldn't think about it.

"Tom? _Tom."_

He started and looked over. The girl was eyeing him sternly, her wand in hand. "Sit back down."

Eyeing the wooden stave warily, he decided to do as told. The confinement charm settled over him again. "You can't just keep me imprisoned here forever, you know," he said, annoyed.

"Watch me," she replied flippantly, returning to chopping mushrooms.

Tom frowned, and then pushed against the barriers around the edges of the bed, trying to dismantle them with his own magic. They refused to budge so much as an inch, and he couldn't help but be impressed. "This is very strong magic," he called. "You must be from a powerful line; what's your family name?"

"Granger," the girl answered coolly, scraping the mushrooms into a pot. For some reason, the boys had started to grin. Tom frowned.

 _"Granger,_ you say? I've never heard of them."

"You wouldn't have." She turned up the flame on the stove and turned to look at him, a slightly superior little smile on her face. "They're dentists."

Tom's mouth dropped open; the boys began to snicker, and he felt the blood rush to his face as he fumed, disgusted. _A mudblood._ He'd been flattering a mudblood. Those foul, magic-stealing muggle thieves… And to think he'd considered her is one ally in this little canvas prison! Furious, he turned and stared at the wall.

Lunch came soon enough, but when the wi– the _girl–_ offered him a bowl of weak mushroom soup, he refused, glowering at her. The mudblood raised both brows this time and said briskly, "Suit yourself; more for us." She poured a third of his bowl into each of theirs, and they continued their conversation as if he weren't even present, aside from speaking in rather vague terms so that eavesdropping was rendered useless. Tom's mind wandered from speculations on time travel to the potions exam he had in a week, to the way the sunlight caught Melinda Burke's hair…

"–We can't stay here forever," the mudblood said, redrawing his attention. Tom cursed inwardly; his three captors were plotting their next move, this was _not_ the time to be thinking of dames. "Especially not with _him_ here."

"Where do we go, then?"

"Hmm… well, we need to tell the– _you know–_ we need to tell _them_ that he's here…"

"Bloody hell, that's going to be hard to explain," Ronald muttered. "Come to think of it, are we sure this was time-travel? Maybe You-Know-Who just got in the way of a bad de-aging charm…"

"De-aging charms don't usually make you lose your memories, do they?" Harry pointed out.

"No…" The mudblood looked thoughtful. "Well, there… there is _one_ way to know for sure…"

She gave Harry a meaningful look; he frowned, confused, and then his eyes went wide. "You mean– you _want_ me to–?"

"It's not like we have many other choices, is it?" Whatever it was they were discussing, the mudblood looked distinctly uncomfortable; she shot a glance to Tom and whispered, "But not in front of him."

"I can _still hear you!"_ the Slytherin exclaimed, finally fed up. "I am literally two feet away!"

The mudblood blushed and snapped, "Fine then!" She nodded to Harry, who, still apparently nervous, stood and left the tent. For a minute or so there was silence; Ronald looked up to the canvas ceiling and began to whistle quietly, only to peter off when the girl gave him an irritated look.

A moment later, Harry walked back in, looking pale and worried. "He's still out there," he declared.

"Bloody hell," Ronald muttered again. "So now we've got two of them to deal with."

"We have to tell– _them,"_ the mudblood repeated grimly. _"They'll_ know what to do."

"Will they? I mean, this is sort of insane, 'Mione."

"Well, we can't handle this ourselves. Besides, I don't know enough about time travel to try to fix this; we'll need to talk to McGonagall."

"McGonagall?" Tom piped up. "As in Isobel McGonagall?"

The three looked to him, surprised. "…No," Hermione– the mudblood– said slowly. "Her daughter. Do you… know her?"

"No, but she has an award in the trophy room. She was the Gryffindor Quidditch captain."

"Alright…" She turned back to the others. "Well, we can't just show up with him in tow; people would panic."

"We could send a patronus."

"Too risky; we don't know who else would be there to hear it. Besides, this tent isn't exactly inconspicuous; we don't want to just show up out of nowhere without warning and bring suspicion…"

They eventually came to the conclusion that they would apparate to a forest where the redhead had once gone, apparently on his way to the World Cup. (Tom couldn't help but be envious; he'd never had the money to go see a proper Quidditch game, let alone the Cup.) Then the girl would apparate away to spy on whoever it was they were taking him to, and when she was sure it was safe, she would come back for them.

They packed up the tent and then the mudblood cast another tether charm, essentially tying him within a few feet of herself. Tom, fed up, decided that this wasn't important; he'd deal with her later. The moment he set one foot outside of the tent, he was off and running.

 _"Aah!"_

 _WHAM!_

The shriek alerted him to his mistake two seconds before his face smacked into the rotting autumn foliage of the forest floor. Spitting out leaves (thankfully he didn't taste blood, so his nose mustn't have broken), he sat up with a groan, looking back. The girl was likewise struggling to her knees; he realized, feeling rather stupid, that just because _he_ had decided to run didn't mean _she_ had.

The redhead helped her up, and then stalked over, face red with fury. Tom instinctively shrunk back, but it was no use; Ronald, he'd belatedly noticed, was a lot bigger than he was, and the redhead hauled him to his feet with one hand easily, wand drawn with the other and pointing right between his eyes. "Try that again," the redhead warned, "and I'll hex you from here to the Hebrides. Got it, _mate?"_

From his tone, Tom felt reasonably certain that the last word was sarcasm. He nodded rapidly.

"Understood. Very clearly understood."

"Brilliant. Let's go."

With a wave of her wand, the mudblood had packed the tent into the tiny beaded bag around her neck, with what he could only assume was a very good expansion charm. Tom was beginning to realize just how messy of a predicament he'd gotten himself into. The mudblood was clearly very powerful, and the redhead looked as if he could knock out the slender Slytherin with one solid punch. Only Harry seemed relatively within his ability to take on single-handedly, and even that would be an unpleasant duel. He couldn't fight his way out of this, Tom decided; he'd have to be cleverer than that. They were bound to mess up sometime… he'd just have to bide his time…

But not at the moment, apparently, for with abrupt swiftness Ronald, who was now holding on to Hermione (who, likewise, was holding Harry), grabbed his arm and turned. There was the horrible sensation of being sucked through a very dark, thin tube, and then the world burst into pale gray sunshine and hard ground against his feet.

Ronald let go of his arm, but something was horribly wrong; Tom felt suddenly very dizzy, the trees were spinning around him. He stumbled and fell sideways.

 _"Ron, what did you do?!"_

 _"I didn't do anything!"_

The spinning was growing faster; his vision had begun to tingle and go gray at the edges. He felt horrible, nauseated; he retched, but nothing came up.

 _"Guys? I think he's going to–"_

And that was the last thing he heard before Tom keeled over, landing on a soft bed of rotted leaves, and the world went black.

* * *

 **A/N: First update for a long while; sorry. :) Hope you enjoyed; please review if you liked it!**


End file.
